Carrollton for having learned her secret, and the next
chiding herself for wishing to withhold from him a knowledge of her
engagement.
"It is not that I love Henry less, I am sure," she thought; and laying
her head upon her pillow she recalled everything which had passed
between herself and her affianced husband, trying to bring back the
olden happiness with which she had listened to his words of love. But
it would not come; there was a barrier in the way--Arthur Carrollton,
as he looked when he said so sadly, "You need not tell me, Maggie."
"Oh, I wish he had not asked me that question!" she sighed. "It has
put such dreadful thoughts into my head. And yet I love Henry as well
as ever--I know I do; I am sure of it, or if I do not, I will," and
repeating to herself again and again the words, "I will, I will," she
fell asleep.
Will, however, is not always subservient to one's wishes, and during
the first few days succeeding the incident of that night Maggie often
found herself wishing Arthur Carrollton had never come to Hillsdale,
he made her so wretched, so unhappy. Insensibly, too, she became
a very little unamiable, speaking pettishly to her grandmother,
disrespectfully to Mrs. Jeffrey, haughtily to Anna, and rarely to Mr.
Carrollton, who after the lapse of two or three weeks began to talk of
returning home in the same vessel with Anna Jeffrey, at which time his
health would be fully restored.
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